


Those First Few Words

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, French tutoring, Friends to Lovers, Mistaken Identity, Pre series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Prof Martin said you were coming. You…are the French tutor, right?” she asked, now sounding unsure from the confused look on his face.Bob rubbed the back of his neck, and later he would blame it on the fact that she was so beautiful and looked so distressed, he panicked. “Yes,” he blurted. “I’m the French tutor.”





	Those First Few Words

**Author's Note:**

> Today has been a bit of a nightmare, but along with mxlfoydraco being the best friend ever and sending me Nursey/Chowder fanart, I thought some Bob/Alicia pre-series fluff would cheer me up. And it did. This came sort of inspired by those tropey fics where one person pretends to be another person's blind date. But I thought it would be even cuter with French tutoring.

Bob ducked into the small café, tripping a little over an untied shoelace, and felt grateful for a moment that none of his teammates were around to chirp him about how ungraceful he was off the ice. He hadn’t meant to be caught in the intense deluge of rain which hit the small college town, nor had he meant to rent the one, single car with a faulty fuel gauge which left him trudging through the storm until he found shelter.

Which was, apparently, this.

At the very least he could buy himself a coffee until the rain stopped, and then find somewhere he could get the car to a mechanic, and phone the rental place who _would_ be sending him a replacement so he could get back on the road in time to meet his mother. He blamed the fucking Bruins for this, too. If he hadn’t been playing in Boston, he wouldn’t have decided that taking an impromptu road trip was a good idea. Then he’d be warm and dry and probably half drunk in a hotel bar somewhere. Which, really, he would have been just fine with.

He passed by a handful of tables, full of students with their noses in books, and he smiled at the barista. “Hey there, what can I get you?”

Bob sighed at the menu, then said, “Just a coffee, please. And euh…do you have maybe a telephone I can borrow?”

“It’ll have to wait til the rain stops,” she said, passing over a steaming coffee in a white mug. “The lines are always down in storms like this.”

“Merde,” Bob said, then smiled at her. “Well, maybe let me know, eh? I got a little bit stuck.” She nodded, and he turned, heading toward a row of tables near the window. He was cold and wet and annoyed and tired, and no way to get out of this mess. Just then, a clap of thunder shook the windows and he sighed. “C’est vraiment des conneries.”

As the curse left his mouth, a woman near the window glanced up, huge blue eyes capturing him almost immediately. She was sat with her hands clutching a book, open on the table, and a half-gone cup of tea near her wrist. She had a knitted wool hat pulled over a long, blonde plait which sat over her shoulder, and her mouth was set in a firm line.

But her eyes. Those gorgeous blues, were staring at him with recognition.

He almost opened his mouth to say, “Yes, I’m Bad Bob Zimmermann,” and maybe even pull a date if he was lucky, because she was gorgeous.

And then she stood. “Thank god. Marcel, right?” Her voice was light and airy, her lips curving into a smile of relief. “I was afraid the rain was going to mess up the meeting, and the phones are down so I couldn’t ring the dorms.”

“Euh…”

“Prof Martin said you were coming. You…are the French tutor, right?” she asked, now sounding unsure from the confused look on his face.

Bob rubbed the back of his neck, and later he would blame it on the fact that she was so beautiful and looked so distressed, he panicked. “Yes,” he blurted. “I’m the French tutor.”

She sighed and sank back down. “That’s…you just have no idea how much I owe you for this. Really.” She looked at him again, then giggled and gestured to the chair. “I mean, unless you prefer to teach standing up.”

He fumbled and tripped a little as he scrambled into the seat, spilling his coffee a little and cursing in French again as the hot liquid seared the skin on his wrist. The woman covered her giggle with polite fingers, her eyes bright and captivating, and he couldn’t help his lips from curving into a matching grin.

“Sorry. Not very graceful, eh?”

She shrugged. “Well, I’m not very good at French so…I guess no one is perfect.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But some people come close.” He delighted in the way her cheeks turned red, and he tried to push down the swooping in his gut because he’d met a lot of men and women—a lot of interested men and women, but none had made him feel like this. Not even his last boyfriend whom he’d been with for nearly seven months had caused his fingers and toes to tingle like this. _Mon dieu_.

“Ah,” she said, and shook her head and cleared her throat. “Well. Professor Martin didn’t tell me you were actually French.”

“Well I’m Canadian,” he said. “But I mostly only speak French at home, so I can probably help you a little bit.” He winked and she laughed.

“I see. Well I’ve heard about the rivalry between Montreal and France, my friend. If I fail, I’m coming after you.”

“I promise,” he said, putting a hand to his heart, leaning forward to drop his voice low, “my grammar is perfect.”

*** 

Bob couldn’t say what possessed him, other than that fact that Alicia Levy was possibly the most beautiful human being on the planet, both inside and out. They chatted a while as he finished his coffee, and he learnt she was a junior, she was studying communications, but she really wanted to be an actress.

“I spend all my time with my theatre friends,” she said with a sigh. “It’s probably why I have a C in this class. I tried to convince the professor to put on Les Mis, but no one can really sing the way we’d need to sing, and I think there would be an actual riot if we introduced the idea of revolution to a bunch of students stressed out over finals.”

Bob laughed. “I wish I…” He stopped himself. He’d been about to say he wished he’d considered University, because the way she smiled, the way she lit up talking about her passions was the way he lit up when talking about hockey and he wondered if maybe he’d been missing this the entire time. Hockey was wonderful.

But it was lonely.

“What is it?” she asked sweetly, her head cocked to the side.

Bob flushed. “Rien. Come on, let’s get you up to speed on that grammar, eh? Get you passing the class.”

She smiled at him again, making his heart beat wildly against his chest. “Okay. Hit me with your best shot, Marcel.”

Bob bit his lip, then nodded and pulled her book close.

*** 

In truth, Alicia was terrible at French. When she’d told him it just wasn’t clicking, she hadn’t been lying. Words they’d gone over minutes before were in one ear and out the other, and she had retained maybe ten percent of what he’d gone over with her by the end of the hour.

With a sigh, Alicia dropped her head on her book and groaned. “I’m going to fail. This is pointless. I don’t…I mean shit, how do people even learn languages?”

Bob laughed. “You know, I learned English when I was ten, when we moved to a bigger city and my school was part in English and part in French. It took me a while to be fluent. It wasn’t until I started using it all the time, you know?”

Alicia looked at him, her expression hesitant, but careful. She put her hand on the table, splayed flat, so close if she shifted even minutely, her fingers would brush against his. “Maybe I should find someone I can speak French with all the time then.”

He licked his lips. “Ah. Ouais,” he breathed, and she laughed. “But I think… euh…”

His words were interrupted by a person wearing a red and white t-shirt with hockey sticks strolling up, staring unabashedly. Bob only just registered he was in a bit of trouble when the man gushed, “Bad Bob Zimmermann, oh my gosh. I am such a fan I just…I can’t believe you’re here! I was at the game last night, and that fight was…wow. Oh my god. Worth the five minutes, you know. Is there any way I can get an autograph?”

Bob didn’t dare look over, didn’t breathe, didn’t move other than to take the pen and scribble his name on the man’s notebook before muttering, “Merci beaucoup,” and flushing so hot, he was sure he was going to catch fire.

He didn’t have the courage to do anything until Alicia cleared her throat.

His gaze moved slowly, a little terrified, like maybe she’d incinerate him with her glower. But he finally plucked up the courage he rarely had off the ice, and looked at her.

She didn’t look angry. Vaguely amused, a little curious, her hands folded together, tucked up under her chin to prop it up, head cocked to the side. “Big with the hockey team, are you?”

Bob bit his lip. “Erm…”

“Bad Bob Zimmermann. You know, I don’t really do sport but that name actually sounds a little familiar. Bit like…Wayne Gretzky.”

Bob flushed and muttered something about Wayne not having nearly as good a clutch shot as he had. When Alicia laughed, he covered his face with one hand. “I’m sorry,” he blurted.

“So you’re not a student, then.”

“No,” he said miserably. “I’m…not a student. I…I was on my way to see my mother, but my car broke down and it was raining, and this was the closest place open that might have a phone,” he admitted. “Then you thought I was your tutor, and you were so pretty I…panicked.”

Her smile was still there, sweet and beautiful, her eyes shining with mirth. “I guess it’s not every day a girl can say she was tutored in French by a Hockey star, is it?”

He let out a startled laugh, scrubbing his face with his palms. “Ah. No, I suppose not.”

She watched him another minute, and to his dismay, began to gather her books and papers, stuffing them into her bag. Her eyes flickered out the window, and he followed her gaze to see the rain had stopped, and a patch of clouds had parted to reveal a strip of blue sky.

His jaw worked, tense, desperate to think of something to say. Anything, that would keep her here, keep him from losing her. He couldn’t just have this one moment, he couldn’t just let her walk out into oblivion.

She was up, stepping away, but then she put one hand on his shoulder, leaning in as she slid something on the table. “I think the café phones are probably working again. So you can go see your mother. I’m sure she’s not a woman who likes to be kept waiting.”

She winked, then squeezed his shoulder, and then she was gone before he could say anything else.

Just before panic started to rise, he looked down and saw a folded up piece of paper. His fingers trembled as he opened it, and a laugh escaped him as his eyes raked over a phone number, and a scribbled note.

**My friends call me Allie. I’ve never been to a hockey game, but I wouldn’t say no to cheering on the best French tutor the NHL has. Call me sometime, eh?**

He clutched the note to his chest, leant back in the chair, and grinned.

*** 

**Epilogue**

Bob was mindful of his sweaty back and dripping hair only as long as it took for her lips to meet his. He could hear the guys chirping him in the background, for the kiss, for the kiss-stupid look on his face, and for the fact that Alicia Levy was wearing a black and yellow Bruins jersey, shining bright in the sea of red and white.

When Bob pulled back, he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing along a small constellation of freckles, just under her left eye. “Hello beautiful.”

“Hello,” she said with a breathy laugh. She sank back down off her tiptoes, her hands still clutching his undershirt. “That was…an interesting game.”

He smiled. “Yeah?”

She shrugged. “I mean, I prefer basketball but…”

He quieted her with another kiss, and she was still laughing when he pulled away. “Did you ever meet Marcel?”

She laughed again, her head shaking. “I did, yes. Not nearly as good looking, and I don’t think he would have spent ten minutes during a game in the penalty box but…he did help me get a B on my exam so…I guess I’ll call it a win.”

Bob was grinning so wide, his cheeks ached, but he couldn’t stop. “Meet us for drinks after?”

Alicia took a step back, but pushed on her toes again, to kiss him one last time. “I’ll be there.” She pulled back and glanced at his teammates with a wicked grin. “Prepare yourselves, boys! You’re about to drink with college students!” As they whooped, she winked, and hurried out.

When Bob turned, he was bombarded with chirps, hands clapping his shoulders as he was shoved back toward his stall to finish dressing. He felt an elbow in his ribs, and turned to see Mitch—their goalie—grinning at him.

“You like this one, eh?” he asked.

Bob’s grin got even wider. He sighed and glanced at the door she’d just walked through. “I’m gonna marry that girl someday. Just you watch.”


End file.
